Of Letters and Parallels
by Beth and Dawn
Summary: As Kyle and Kenny begin to gravitate towards one another, Gerald and Stuart find themselves face to face with reminders of their own summer together and the letters they can't seem to burn. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **_This story is a collaboration between DoYouUnderstand and dawnperhaps. We do not own the characters and they are significantly older than they appear in the show.

_**Alternate A/N**_: Hi, this is Beth and Dawn and our love breaks gravity.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<br>**

"What does 'together' mean?"

Next to him, Kyle could hear Kenny sigh through his nose, probably resisting the urge to rub at his sore temples or pinch the bridge of his nose. Kyle could only stare in disbelief at his mother, opening and closing his mouth and trying to come up with a word more appropriate than "together," a word he'd spent the better part of the week deciding upon. Kenny's hand was rubbing just above his knee gently, but for once it wasn't relaxing him. The situation had put him on edge and his mother's response had sent his anxiety levels through the roof.

"_Together_, Mom," Kyle stressed, very close to whining. "Like... Kenny and I. We're... together."

"We're dating. Exclusively," Kenny clarified, giving Kyle's knee a squeeze.

"You're in a relationship?" Sheila asked, her eyebrows nearly meeting her hairline.

"Yes. All of those things. Yes," Kyle said impatiently.

"And we're having a conference about this because...?" Ike suddenly spoke up, looking up from his Iron Man comic book with an expression that conveyed just how much he truly did not care.

Kyle wanted to snap at him for being such a bratty little shit, but he instead sighed and leaned his knee up into Kenny's palm. He really couldn't let his irrational temper get to him, especially not at a time like this. Not when so much was resting on his family's reaction. Kenny, as usual, noticed his new boyfriend's frustration, probably from the tenseness in his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his mouth.

"We'd really like your approval," the blonde said carefully, looking at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. Kyle met his stare and nodded wearily in support.

Mrs. Broflovski's mouth tightened for a moment. "Well. How long have you been... together?"

The pair both visibly shrunk. Their mouths fell open to answer, but when they met each others' eyes, they both seemed to realize they weren't sure what the answer was.

"Two weeks," Kyle finally said, while Kenny nodded his head along with him.

"They've been fucking for a lot longer than that," Ike spoke up, nose back in his book.

"Ike!" Kyle and Sheila both shrieked at the same time, Kyle looking completely furious and Sheila looking completely scandalized.

"Okay, look, I have shit to do, so let's be honest," Ike decided, putting his comic book down beside him on the couch. "Kenny and Kyle have decided that they love each other. And we, as your adoring family, Kyle-" Ike put his hand over his heart while Kyle struggled to stay in his seat and not smother him with one of Sheila's decorative throw pillows. "-are very concerned because Kenny is a slut." He smiled cheerfully and scanned the various expressions in the room. "Does that pretty much cover everybody's feelings?"

Kenny alternated between scowling at the floor and glaring at Ike. Kyle, on the other hand, was very much set on only glaring at Ike.

"We _are_ concerned, Kyle," Sheila admitted, although she had to grace not to look at Kenny when she said it.

Kenny's grip tightened on Kyle's leg, and this time Kyle knew it wasn't for his comfort.

"Mom, you've known Kenny since we were in kindergarten. You really think he'd hurt me?" Kyle demanded. He was trying to suppress his instinct to turn and hug his boyfriend, maybe hold his head in his lap and run his fingers through his hair until that look left his face.

"I don't know, bubbie," Sheila said honestly. Kyle was glad that she at least looked conflicted about the whole thing, those same little lines Kyle had forming at the corners of her mouth.

"Well, I trust him," Kyle snapped, covering Kenny's hand with his. "That should be enough for you."

Kyle could hear Ike sniggering and mumbling quietly beside them but he ignored it. His attention was directed solely towards Sheila, a look of steely determination on his face.

"We are talking about a romantic kind of relationship, right?" Sheila finally asked, almost desperately, making every head in the room turn toward her.

"Really?" Kyle asked, his stare completely blank.

"Well, boys, I don't want to be presumptuous," Mrs. Broflovski explained. "I wasn't even aware Kenneth liked boys."

"Mom, his hand is on my knee," Kyle exclaimed, gesturing to the hand that Kenny was then awkwardly pulling away from him. "How is that presumptuous?" He made a vague gesture before adding, "What do you think we've been talking about?"

The look on Sheila's face was far from approving, but it wasn't exactly disapproving either. Kyle could tell she was softening to the idea just from the way she held herself and the expression on her face. There was a lengthy pause. Kenny's hand had returned to Kyle's leg, massaging gently, trying to ease away Kyle's tension. Kyle offered him a tight smile before turning his attention back to his mother. His anticipation for her approval- or even just a 'yes/no' answer far outweighed the possibility of rejection.

"I'm... I'm not sure if I'm okay with this yet, boys. You're so young and so- so _vulnerable_." She turned her attention to Kenny. "My Kyle is a very special little man, Kenneth."

"It's just Ken-"

"And therefore he should be _treated _like a very special little man."

Kenny swallowed. Kyle closed his hand over the one on his knee and squeezed the knuckle gently. Kenny had shuffled closer to him sometime during the exchange and Kyle leaned up against him just so he could feel the heat of Kenny's breath on his cheek. He stroked Kenny's hand gently with the pad of his thumb and looked back up at his mother with pure determination in his eyes.

"Mom, I know how this looks from the outside. Trust me. Stan has mentioned it several times," Kyle began, choosing his words carefully. "But you have to believe me. We're really happy. Kenny has done a lot to gain my trust, and I think I've done a lot to gain his. So trust my judgment this time. Please."

Kyle looked over at Kenny to see him smiling in a fragile sort of way that didn't quite fit his face. It only lasted for a moment, though, before the blonde turned back to Sheila with renewed confidence.

"I'm sorry if I've ever given you a reason not to trust me," he said earnestly. "And I'm even more sorry that I ever gave Kyle a reason. But I really care about your son. I don't go home to people's parents a lot, but that's because I've never wanted to. Not until now." He flipped his hand over to lace his fingers with Kyle's and Kyle couldn't help but feel a burst of pride in his chest.

"Your approval would mean a lot to me," Kenny added, looking over to Kyle. "But I don't need it. In fact, if you want me out, I can't guarantee that that's a possibility."

Sheila's face had relaxed considerably. Her lips were still pursed, her chin still raised- but her eyes weren't nearly as harsh. She was glancing between them. Kyle could tell that she was weighing out the situation in her head.

"Come on, Mom," Ike suddenly spoke up, and Kyle looked over at him in surprise, having assumed that he hadn't been listening. Ike didn't even look up to say, "They're clearly gay for each other."

"I can see that," she muttered, glancing at their pressed together legs. She sighed, worry creasing her brows. "Has Kenneth been tested?"

"_Mom_!"

"I'm just worried, Kyle! We would be ignorant in thinking that Kenny is still, well... _pure." _She paused and sighed. "His promiscuity isn't exactly a secret, bubbie."

Kyle opened his mouth to vehemently defend Kenny's honor, but Kenny held on tighter to his hand and calmly interrupted him.

"I got tested," he admitted. His face was calm, but Kyle knew him well enough to recognize the thickness in his voice and the slight shaking of his hand. The blonde took a deep breath before adding, "I'd never do anything to put Kyle at risk like that."

Kyle interlaced their fingers properly and squeezed. He could see the fight leaving Sheila's eyes, and he knew that they'd pretty much fully won her over, although perhaps at the price of Kenny's dignity. He couldn't wait to get Kenny out of that room and reassure him, tell him that he was perfect and loved. To hold him and press little kisses on the pulse point just below his jaw bone. Even if the other boy didn't need it, Kyle thought maybe _he_ needed it, to reassure himself that Kenny knew it and Kenny was happy with himself and with Kyle. Really, he just needed Kenny. And he really hoped that his mother could see that.

"I just don't know what to think," she said, her fingers drumming against the hard wood of the coffee table. The room was otherwise silent; even Ike was quiet. Kenny and Kyle were still playing with each others' fingers, still sitting impossibly close, still shaking slightly from undeniable nerves.

Sheila finally let out a sigh, her face resolute. "Well, boys, I guess I can't tell you not to see each other," she decided, still looking conflicted, but significantly less so than before. Kyle and Kenny both straightened, prepared to thank her profusely, but she raised a finger at them.

"Promise me," she began, wagging the digit. "That you'll respect and take care of one another."

"Yes," Kyle and Kenny said in unison, glancing at each other in relief.

"Always," Kyle added, grinning when Kenny nodded at him. Kyle could feel Kenny's thigh and upper leg pressed closely to his, and he pressed back, wanting to be as close to Kenny as possible. He'd gone into the situation with low expectations and to have his worries and fears dashed was both a dream come true and a heavy weight off his shoulders. And if Kenny's crooked half-smile and finally relaxed shoulders were any indication, the blonde seemed to feel the same way.

"Fantastic," Ike declared wryly, rising from the couch and stretching his arms over his head. "Young love has triumphed. Can we please eat dinner now?"

"Yes, Ike, we can eat dinner," Sheila said in exasperation. She rose to her feet and headed toward the kitchen, calling back, "I have a meatloaf in the oven."

Ike tossed his comic on the couch, rolling his eyes. "Great. I'm really glad I waited through that live-action soap opera for Mom's _meatloaf_," he groaned, following Sheila into the kitchen with hunched shoulders.

Kyle allowed Kenny to pull him under his arm, relaxing against his chest. A weight had been taken off both their shoulders and the release of tension was visible. Everything about their posture suggested relaxation.

"That could have been worse," Kyle admitted, turning and burying his face in Kenny's collarbone, suddenly exhausted.

"Really?" Kenny asked wryly. He let his head fall back against the wall, staring at the ceiling and absentmindedly playing with Kyle's curls. Kyle looked up to see that his eyes were closed and his brows were furrowed. "I thought it sucked pretty hard."

"She could have yelled."

"She could have accused me of having STDs. Oh, wait."

"Shut up," Kyle said fondly, moving from under his boyfriend's arm to stand. "At least you're getting meatloaf out of it."

Kenny grunted and let Kyle pull him up. Their hands broke apart for a few moments, only to be linked again shortly after. Despite Kenny's words, the blonde was smiling, staring down at their entwined fingers. Kyle found himself flashing back to a month ago, at Clyde Donovan's party, when he'd woken up next to Kenny in a spare bedroom, naked except for one sock. It was a such a familiar situation that Kyle couldn't even count how many times he'd found himself in it, sore, hating himself, and trying to prepare for that awkward moment when Kenny would wake up and Kyle would have to pretend that Kenny's eyes weren't actually that blue and his smile wasn't actually that disarming. He had been trying to plan the joke he would tell when Kenny would start to look uncomfortable, probably trying to think of a way to tell Kyle that he was just really, _really_ drunk, when he first felt it. Someone behind him was carding his fingers through Kyle's very mused hair, untangling the curls from one another. Kyle had a moment where he couldn't breathe, trying to remember if he'd hooked up with someone other than Kenny last night. But then he heard a very audible sigh, one he knew belonged to Kenny, and the bed shifted. Holding his breath, he slowly rolled over, only to be met with Kenny, lying on his back with his eyes closed, smiling that same fond smile.

At that time, hungover at a random party and only wearing one sock, it had meant hope. Now, it just reassured Kyle that he was making the right decision, that a million conversations with his mother would be worth it, just to see Kenny smiling at him like that. Like he'd hung the moon. Even though Kyle knew full well that that was Kenny's job.

"You coming to dinner, Mr. Brof?" Kenny was suddenly asking.

Kyle looked at his dad, his brows furrowed in confusion. He had almost forgotten his father had been in the room, he'd been so silent. But now that he was looking at him, he noticed that almost... devastated look on his face.

"Dad? Dad, you okay?"

He hadn't even stopped to think that maybe his _Dad _would be the one with a problem. Gerald had always been the more accepting parent and the thought that maybe he'd be the one to disapprove of his relationship with Kenny was enough to send Kyle's brain into a confused, panicked frenzy.

Gerald was staring at Kenny like he was a ghost, his brows furrowed and his eyes distant. Kyle couldn't say that he'd ever seen a look like that on his father's face and he found his heart beating more quickly. As much practice as he had arguing with his mother, he had equally as much inexperience arguing with his father. In fact, he had made it a point in the past to blindly take his advice on the basis that he was always fair and logical. He could fight his mother; his father's disapproval would break his heart.

"Dad, is there... are you okay with this?" Kyle asked meekly.

Kyle's question seemed to pull Gerald out of his trance. His eyes immediately snapped over to Kyle's and Kyle couldn't help but notice his alarm, his eyes wide and startled like a surprised deer. Kyle offered him a hesitant smile, his throat tight even as Kenny's thumb moved over the back of his hand in soothing little strokes.

Kenny grabbed his hand again and Kyle could only assume that the worry in his mind was spread clearly across his face, in his eyes, on his lips. He squeezed the hand that was curled around his and swallowed, nervously waiting for his dad to reply.

Gerald cleared his throat and looked away, staring hard at the ground. When he looked back to Kyle, his mouth was set in a tight line, but the corners slowly turning up hesitantly. Kyle wanted to believe that smile, but he couldn't help but notice the way he was wringing his hand, the little lines that were creasing his forehead. It was always the little things with Gerald. Sheila was an open book, quick to say exactly what was on her mind and without shame, but Gerald tended to refrain from open declarations of his feelings and opinions. Thus, over the years, Kyle had had to make careful observations until he had compiled an internal handbook for reading his father. And, despite his calm exterior, Gerald was undoubtedly stressed.

Kyle tried again, edging closer to his dad, pulling Kenny just a little bit further with him. "Dad?" He sounded unsure, even to his own ears. "_Please _say something?"

"I promise to take care of him, Mr. B," Kenny added, and Kyle felt an arm snake around his waist, cinching Kyle to his side.

Something that looked to Kyle like complete shock flashed across Gerald's eyes before he shakily laughed, standing on uncertain feet.

"Of course it's fine, boys," Gerald decided, his smile forced. Kyle looked pleadingly at him, silently begging him to mean his words. Gerald turned toward Kyle and looked at him, and Kyle couldn't help but feel as though his own desperation was being reflected in his father's eyes. Gerald paused before clapping him on the shoulder. "I just want you to be happy, Kyle."

"Kenny makes me happy, Dad," Kyle asserted, feeling the arm around him pull him closer in gratitude.

With Kenny firmly pressed to his side, Kyle stared at his father. Gerald was looking at them, his posture stiff and his lips turned down in the slightest of ways. Kyle could only interpret it as sadness. Sadness that Kyle was growing up? Kyle doubted that. His father had always pushed for Kyle to be more mature and had easily allowed him to do 'grown-up' things like staying out late at Stan's. While Sheila had been over-protective and sheltering, Gerald had allowed Kyle to grow.

Kyle sighed again, feeling very tense. His dad was sad- or maybe something else, something equally as bad- and Kyle couldn't tell why. He'd thought he'd learnt to read his dad, but then maybe he hadn't.

They stood in silence for a little while, letting it grow between them, letting the tension thicken. Gerald had moved a little closer to the door and a little further away from them, so far that Kyle feared that maybe he'd back out of the room completely without giving them a definite answer. He _needed _a definite answer.

Finally, Gerald nodded slowly. Everything Kyle had ever observed and cataloged about his father's action pointed toward some sort of reluctance, but Kyle didn't want to believe it. And so he didn't, instead passing it off as a trick of his own imagination, born out of all the stress he'd had today, his own paranoia that he and Kenny might not live happily ever after.

"Then, I'm happy for you," Gerald said, his voice artificially chipper. He nodded again, clasping his hands together and smiling tightly. "You have my support, I suppose. If that's what you're looking for."

"It is," Kyle insisted, his hand automatically seeking out Kenny's. He tried to make eye contact with his father when he added, "Thanks, dad. Really."

With that, Gerald finally backed all the way out of the living room, slipping away into the kitchen to join Sheila and Ike, who probably shouldn't have been left alone in the first place. Kyle and Kenny were left standing there, Kenny's arm still linked around Kyle's waist, both of them staring at the place Gerald had been standing.

"What was that about?" Kyle wondered aloud, frowning. From the kitchen, Kyle could hear the sounds of Ike cracking jokes - presumably about the meatloaf - and Sheila shrieking at him to sit down. It was so familiar that it seemed strange, considering the very unfamiliar exchange he'd just had with his father.

"I don't know, man," Kenny said with a shrug, cautiously steering Kyle towards the kitchen. Kyle hadn't realized he'd been staring into the living room, as if looking at the place the conversation had happened would help him make sense of it.

"He's just never like that, you know," Kyle continued. "He's always the one who's like, 'Sheila, calm down. Let the boys go outside and play.'"

Kenny laughed at Kyle's very accurate impersonation of Mr. Broflovski. "I'm sure it's nothing. You know how adults around here are. Didn't your dad want to be a dolphin one summer or something?"

Kyle sighed, bringing a hand up to his face. "Yeah, that might have been a thing," he admitted.

No one acknowledged them when they finally sat down for dinner, already engaged in a heated discussion about whether or not Ike had to right to critique his own mother's cooking and probably reluctant to make the boys' announcement any more of a big deal. Kenny ate happily, even complimenting Sheila's meatloaf, much to Ike's dismay. Kyle should have been happy, he knew, watching Kenny get along with Sheila, banter with Ike, and just fit so seamlessly into his family. But he couldn't take his eyes off his father, a sad, tight smile stuck on the older man's face. Kyle knew he should have just taken his father's acceptance and been happy, but he couldn't see past the little signs: the forced smile, the stiff posture, and the strangely haunted look in his eyes.

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><p>Please R&amp;R.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ This chapter is set when the boys' parents were in high school. In case it wasn't clear in our summary, the chapters will switch back and forth between present-day Kenny and Kyle and past Stuart and Gerald.

We don't own the characters. Thank you for reading!

_**Alternate A/N:**_ This is Dawn, and Beth is my English angel.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

It wasn't that Gerald wasn't accustomed to notes hitting him in the back of the head in the middle of class. Because he definitely was. His friendship with Randy Marsh just seemed to be naturally accompanied by being pelted by random objects, especially notes in class, folded up in a million different shapes and sizes. They could be sitting at the lunch table - directly across from each other - and Gerald would still occasionally find paper footballs smacking him in the nose, some ridiculous greeting scrawled across the front in Randy's chicken scratch handwriting.

So, when a crumpled-up ball of notebook paper hit him in the ear during Math class, it wasn't the fact things were being thrown at him that threw him off. It was that it was Stuart McCormick staring at him expectantly as he opened it, not Randy.

"What?" he mouthed incredulously at the dirty blonde boy, covering his ear with his hand.

Stuart, who was lounging with his feet kicked up on his desk and his trademark baseball cap turned around backwards, just raised an eyebrow at him and gestured toward the note, miming an unfolding motion with his hands. Gerald frowned down at the crumpled bit of paper that was pressed between his thumb and forefinger. It was rare for Stuart to send notes, especially in math (his designated napping period.) In fact, Stuart was normally the one telling Randy and Gerald that they were "girls" or "gay" for sending notes at all.

"Gerry," came a fervent whisper from over his shoulder. Gerald rolled his eyes, but turned around to see Randy a row back with his hands cupped around his mouth.

With a glance back at the teacher to make sure she was still facing the board, Gerald whispered back, "What, Randy?"

The mousy haired girl next to Randy turned to glare at both of them, despite the fact that she didn't have a notebook open in front of her either. "Would the two of you please shut up for once?" she snapped.

"God, Sharon, why are you always interrupting my conversations with Gerald, huh?" Randy said, turning all his attention, as usual, toward Sharon Fisher. Gerald sighed and rubbed the side of his face, tired of watching this train wreck happen every day of the week.

"Is it 'cause you're hot for me?" Randy continued, wagging his eyebrows in his ridiculous, but unfortunately usual way.

Sharon just glared at him before turning back to the board. "You're disgusting."

"I love you," Randy whispered in return, eyes wide. Sharon didn't turn around again.

"Randy, what did you want?" Gerald pressed, trying to remain conscious of the teacher's continuing lecture. Randy Marsh might have been a moron most of the time, but that moron was Gerald's best friend and he wasn't going to watch him continue to humiliate himself in front of the girl of his dreams for the rest of class.

Randy looked at Gerald as if he had forgotten the other boy existed. "What? Oh. Yeah." He turned around a little to face Gerald. "What's the note say?"

Gerald gaped at him, suddenly regretting distracting his sorry ass from certain humiliation. "I haven't even opened it yet!" he hissed.

"Well, open it and then tell me!"

"It's my note!"

Randy's face fell. "But. I want to know what you guys are talking about."

"Randy-"

"Mr. Broflovski!" came a shriek from behind him. Gerald winced and slowly turned around to meet his teacher's very unamused face. She arched a bushy eyebrow at him before asking, "Would you care to tell the class what you and Mr. Marsh find so much more interesting than my lecture?"

Gerald quickly stuffed the note under his thigh. He didn't know what it read, but he was assuming it probably wouldn't make for the best oral presentation.

"Or would you rather tell me in an after school detention?"

"We... we weren't _doing _anything, Miss Gagsoncok. Randy was just confused, I was helping him."

She gave him a disbelieving look, her lips pressed in a thin irritated line. "Just continue with your work, Mr. Brovloski, and try not to disturb my lecture again." She started ranting again, and Gerald's fingers tightened around the note. The interruption had only heightened his curiosity, so much so that he was practically dying to get just a quick look at the note.

Gerald toyed with the tattered paper in his hand before unfolding it, taking his time, almost savouring the moment. Stuart rarely sent notes and when he did they were either hilariously funny or asking Gerald to do something that made him feel older than his sixteen years. He couldn't help the excitement that swelled in his stomach.

In Stuart's surprisingly neat writing were the words: "_gerry - how's about we fuck after school?_" There was nothing more, the rest of the page blank. The tiny black letters, written with what looked like a Sharpie pen, seemed to jump off the page in contrast to the white void around them.

Gerald's lips parted slightly in surprise, his eyes bugging in an almost cartoon-ish way. He couldn't tell if the note was a joke or if it was serious; when it came to Stuart and sex, he never could. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he turned the paper over and clicked the lid off his pen.

He wrote back with, _"What? Are you high again, Stuart?"_, his handwriting significantly messier than usual. His hand was shaking- but he wasn't sure why. Nerves, maybe? Confusion? _Anticipation?_ Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he threw the note back in Stuart's general direction.

"Hey. Hey, Gerry. Psst."

"Randy, shut up, okay?" Gerald whispered over his shoulder. Now that he knew the contents of the note his nerves felt raw and exposed. He was suddenly very conscious of his teacher glancing back at him suspiciously every few minutes. It was one thing to stand up in front of the class and read whatever nonsense Randy had decided to send him that day. It would probably be quite another time to do a dramatic reading of Stuart's request for sex.

"Gerry!" Randy whined, throwing a balled up piece of paper at him. "Don't be a dick."

Gerald's fingers curled around his pencil. His already somewhat short temper had frayed from the nerves and the apprehension that had come along with Stuart's note and Randy's persistent whining wasn't making it any better. He glanced over at Stuart to see that he was still lounging, looking completely relaxed as he scrawled a response across the note. Gerald found himself wondering if Stuart had seen his hand shaking when he'd been writing and crossed his arms self-consciously.

'He was probably just joking,' Gerald told himself, staring hard at his desk. 'Yeah, I'm not freaking out because it was definitely a joke. Because I would freak out if it wasn't a joke. I would definitely just... freak the fuck out.'

The teacher continued to drone on at the front. The dull, monotonous tone to her voice was only causing Gerald's anxieties to worsen.

There was a cough from his left and then the note was landing at his feet. The feet of his desk scraped against the floor as he frantically moved to get it, and he just managed to grab it and shove it under his thigh again before the teacher whirled around to stare at him suspiciously. He swallowed and returned her stare, offering her an uncomfortable smile.

"Mr. Broflovski," she said slowly, eying him carefully as if she could read his mind. Gerald had a horrifying moment where he wondered if she could.

"Miss Gagsoncok," he replied, quelling his instinct to give her a thumbs up or something equally awkward and inappropriate.

She narrowed her eyes at him before turning back around with her chalk, her writing becoming a little more violent. Gerald let out the breath he'd been holding, his fingers automatically going for the note. He kept his eyes firmly on the desk in front of him, on the note, away from Stuart's obvious gaze. He wasn't sure that he could take whatever look Stuart would be throwing him. Gerald told himself his hands weren't shaking as he, once again, hastily unfolded the paper under his desk.

"_dude, i'm serious. we just built a shack. let's shack up._"

Both an alarming need to throw up and a sense of disbelief at Stuart's words hit Gerald at the same time, and he had to blink a couple of times to refocus his eyes. The note was cheesy- border-line pathetic- but it was so _Stuart _that Gerald couldn't help the smile that curved at his lips.

"Gerry. _Gerry_."

"Mr. Marsh!" Miss Gagsoncok finally exploded, slamming her chalk done onto her desk. She leaned heavily on her hands, which were curling around the papers littered across her desk. The look in her eyes was enough to make every student in the room turn away from their chosen distractions and stare back in shock. "Would you _please_ tell me what is _so pressing_ that it couldn't wait until after my lecture to be discussed?"

Randy looked caught between completely shocked and guilty, his lips parted and his eyes wide. Gerald would have laughed if it had been any other time, but unfortunately he was distracted.

"Principal's office," their teacher snapped, pointing towards the door.

Randy continued to gape at her. "But-"

"I don't care where you go! Just get out of my classroom!"

Randy's mouth opened and closed a couple of times- much like a fish out of water- before he eventually pressed his lips into a thin line. "_Fine_," he said, glancing at Sharon who was staring blankly past him. "I will go. I will take my punishment like the man that I am!"

Gerald groaned to himself as Randy stormed out, his papers flying and his pencils rolling onto the floor. All eyes were on Randy except for Sharon's, and Gerald almost found himself feeling sorry for the poor, love-sick guy. Almost.

Miss Gagsoncok stared at the wreckage surrounding Randy's desk, her lips so tightly pursed and her eyes so freakishly wide that Gerald was afraid she might have an aneurysm right there in the front of the classroom. Without another word, she inhaled sharply through her nose and turned on her heel, her shoes clicking menacingly against the linoleum as she stomped out, her nose held high. The door slammed closed behind her and the students were left staring at the entrance, and then each other.

"Dude," one of the junkies at the back drawled. "Does this mean... _free period_?"

"It sure fucking does," someone else called out. Gerald turned around to see Thomas Tucker hopping over his desk and pulling out a lighter. "Hey, dude, give me a smoke."

"Get your own, asshole!"

Gerald smiled when Sharon met his gaze and rolled her eyes before heading to the back to grab a cigarette for herself. When he turned around and looked up, Stuart was directly in front of him, casually leaning against his desk. Looking up at the lanky teenager, Gerald was suddenly and distinctly aware of his own lack of sex appeal. He tugged his yarmulke down further onto his head- almost self-consciously, hiding a little more of his dull hair from Stuart's somewhat intense stare.

"You didn't send me a note back," Stuart said, blunt and fast. Gerald blinked up at him and swallowed down the nervous lump that had formed in his throat.

"Dude, Randy and Miss Gagsoncok just had an epic battle," he pointed out, resisting the urge to reach for his hair once again. "I was a little distracted."

Stuart raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Explain to me why you kept on glancing at my note, then, Einstein."

"Explain to me," Gerald countered, surprising himself with his ability to articulate in such a situation. "Why you're asking your male best friend for... sex. I guess."

"I'm curious," Stuart said, as if it should have been obvious.

Gerald tried to tell himself that that particular sentence wasn't the last thing he wanted to hear. He couldn't say he knew what he was hoping to hear instead. He'd definitely wanted something more particular, more precise. Stuart's vague, almost empty answer had left him wanting something more. Something bigger. With a strong sense of determination and a slightly shaking hand he gripped onto the front of Stuart's jacket and pulled him down to his eye level.

"Explain to me properly."

Stuart just grinned at him and shrugged. "I think it'd be cool." He pulled himself away from Gerald's firm grip. "'Sides, your ass is better than nearly everyone else's in this lame town."

"My... my _ass_?" Gerald blinked at him and curled his fingers back up and into his lap.

"We're friends, dude, but I'm not exactly after you for your brain."

"Dude! I'm not even gay."

That word seemed to trigger something is Stuart, and suddenly the flirtatious smile fell from his face, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "What? Christ, dude, neither am I!" His eyes darted around the room, his expression a mixture of disgust and horror, and suddenly Gerald was feeling lower than the dirt that seemed permanently smudged across Stuart's surprisingly high cheekbone.

"But I thought you wanted-"

Stuart cut him off with a stern look. "Come on, Gerry, it'd just be, like... experimenting or some shit. We're not fags."

With both his heart and nerves twisted into knots, Gerald lowered his eyes to the table. He had no idea on how he was supposed to respond, what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to react. He was lost and he doubted anyone would offer to help him. Especially Stuart.

"So," Stuart said impatiently. He looked much less friendly than he did when he first walked over, which didn't do anything to assuage Gerald's anxiety. He barely recognized the deep scowl on his friend's face, having a hard time connecting it to the boy he'd spent the past three weeks building a fort with.

Stuart grumbled a little and fell back away from Gerald. "Look, are you alright man? You look pale and shit."

Gerald looked up into Stuart's dark blue eyes, but he didn't see any real concern, just impatience and a little bit of boredom. Taking a steadying breath, Gerald nodded and straightened his shoulders a bit, almost as if he was trying to make himself appear bigger than he really was.

"Yeah, okay," Gerald said, managing to keep his voice steady even as his gut twisted uncomfortably, and suddenly he felt like the little boy who'd once been peer pressured to eat a worm on the playground. Only it was Stuart that stuck up for him back then. "The experimenting, I mean. Sounds... cool."

Gerald hadn't even noticed how tense Stuart's posture was until he saw his shoulders drop, the deep line between his brows disappearing. In fact, he looked quite relaxed, the lopsided smile that Gerald was so familiar with suddenly reappearing. Rubbing his palms over his pant legs, Gerald smiled nervously back, letting himself relax back, too.

"Yeah, well, come over tonight. Ma' left me a bottle of Jack and I'm pretty sure everyone is gonna be out."

Gerald didn't know whether he was more depressed or relieved that alcohol would be involved. He was caught in a state halfway between nerves and disappointment, though the disappointment confused him. But Stuart was still standing there and still staring at him and Gerald forced the smile to stay on his face as he nodded.

"Yeah, sure thing."

Stuart nodded once and pulled his hat back away from his eyes. "Don't skip out on me this time, Gerry. You kept me waitin' for hours last time."

"Yeah... yeah, I promise I'll come. Just give me a couple hours, 'kay?"

"Why, so you can make yourself all pretty for me?" His teasing smirk was back, and Gerald forced a smile in return, clenching his fists around the table legs. That was actually what he'd been planning on doing; having a shower, shaving, maybe even combing his hair. Once again Stuart had managed to make him feel stupid, but that was okay. It was part of their friendship. He was almost certain that he made Stuart feel stupid sometimes, too, with his talk about test scores and his future, the things Stuart didn't care about it. The stuff Stuart was too scared to care about, although he'd never admit it. Gerald wondered if, just maybe, this was Stuart's way of regaining some balance in their relationship. Gerald certainly felt a little scared now.

He looked away, all too aware of Stuart's heavy gaze. "Make myself pretty for you? Yeah dude, sure. Like I do everyday." He smiled weakly. "You'd better do the same for me, though."

"Hey, you're the one taking it up the ass," Stuart quipped casually, still grinning. Gerald's breath stilled in his chest because, not only was it a little degrading, it was also new information.

"Do you..." He hesitated, licking his lips and angling his face up a little to look straight into his best friend's eyes. "Do you even know how to _do that_?"

"Sure," Stuart assured him, although Gerald couldn't say he felt especially assured by the cocky look on his friend's face. "How much different could it be?"

"Pretty different?" He guessed, though he honestly had no idea either. "Uh, a lady's vagina is self-lubricating." His cheeks burned. "Do you think my ass is, too?"

"Dude, yeah, sure. Look, I'll wrap it up, stick it in and that's that. It's simple. Don't get your little Jew-brain into a tizzy over it."

"You make it sound so blunt."

Stuart shrugged. "That's because it is. Why make it all complicated and shit? Blunt and simple, just the way I like it."

Gerald just nodded, resigning himself to the fact that his first time wasn't going to be very special at all. At least it would be with someone he trusted; someone he knew wouldn't hurt him. Even if it didn't go perfectly, he'd still be able to look Stuart in the eye the next day. And maybe, he told himself, that it would be better this way. It would be good to have some experience when he really did fall in love with someone.

Although, how much help this particular lesson would be with the ladies, he couldn't really say. It would probably help more if he were the one to fuck Stuart, but he doubted his best friend would ever let him do that. Stuart was too proud for that, too much of a man, too into the ladies.

And Gerald wasn't? He felt more confused than ever.

"What do we tell Randy?" Gerald finally asked, looking in the direction the other boy had stormed off in. Randy was sensitive, especially after being yelled at by someone. He also didn't take being left out of things very well, and seemed especially perceptive when it came to Gerald and Stuart having secrets. When he'd discovered they were building their little shed, he'd whined about it for days but neither Gerald nor Stuart had let him join them. Randy generally wasn't much help when it came to projects, or anything, really. And Gerald had enjoyed getting closer to Stuart, getting to know him a little better and strengthening their friendship without Randy there to facilitate discussions centered around booze, pot, and chicks.

He wasn't expecting their friendship to get _this_ strong, though. In fact, in the back of his mind, he was a little concerned that it might not be.

"We don't tell Randy shit," Stuart said, rolling his eyes. "That's, like, rule numero uno of life."

"He'll bitch and moan the second he knows something's up."

"So we'll take a page out of Sharon Fisher's book," Stuart said, already grinning. "And completely ignore him."

He rolled his eyes, grinning. "He's hopeless when it comes to her."

"He's hopeless when it comes to most things."

"That's true..."

Stuart perched himself on the edge of Gerald's desk and they sat in a somewhat comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. People had started to trickle out of the classroom, some staying but most leaving at the promise of a free period.

"You should go," Gerald said, his smile still forced and in place. "Go start on your homework, okay?"

Stuart smirked. "Yeah, I gotta go, but not to do homework."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes, used to Stuart's lack of caring towards homework. "Just get out of here."

Stuart grabbed his ratty bag from the floor and gave Gerald a quick salute. Gerald returned the gesture, smiling at his best friend as he walked out, his long pants trailing along the dirty ground.

Gerald kept smiling at Stuart's back until the other boy was safely out of the classroom. When the door clicked behind him, he finally sighed, leaning back in his desk and staring at the ceiling. He loved plans. He could be almost manic with his need to schedule and keep things written down and organized. Even so, he'd never expected sex - his first time having it, for that matter - to feel so arranged and clinical. Maybe the spontaneity was supposed to make it less terrifying. He realized with a chill that he'd have to spend the next two or three hours thinking about it.

He looked down at the folded up piece of paper in his hands, uncurling his fingers and holding it flat in his palm. He smoothed it out with his thumb and stared at it, trying to search for a deeper meaning that just wasn't there. The thing only had three lines written on it, and yet it had affected Gerald's entire day. Probably his entire year, as well, though he wouldn't know that until later, when Stuart either stayed his friend or awkwardly began avoiding him.

It would be another three hours of this kind of thinking.

The bell shocked him from his internal struggles, and he looked up at the clock in surprise. Instinctively reaching for his backpack, he stood up from his desk, realizing quickly that he was the only student who had stayed the entire length of the class period. He was struck by how quiet it was, how very alone he was suddenly feeling. He didn't waste any time heading for the door. Maybe he could find Randy and grab some dinner at the diner before he had to go to Stuart's.

Or maybe he really would go wash his hair.

He stopped at the door of the classroom, reflexively going to throw out the note he still held in his hand. He found himself pausing, though, staring at it and turning it over in his hand. Without allowing himself to think about it too much, he stuffed the piece of paper into his back pocket, wincing and letting out a self-deprecating sigh as he did so. Resigned to keeping the note, to losing his virginity tonight, to losing his virginity to _Stuart McCormick_, he walked out of the empty classroom into an equally empty hallway.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Alternate ending<strong>_: And then Dawn crashed from her heavy caffeine intake and passed out. And Beth held her. The end.

Please R&R.


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